


Pitch Black, Pale Blue

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hair Washing, Kissing, M/M, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 23:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19936366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: The sun's been gone nearly two years when Gladio suddenly wonders when the last time anyone touched Iggy was.





	Pitch Black, Pale Blue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dudewheresmytea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudewheresmytea/gifts).



The sun's been gone nearly two years when Gladio suddenly wonders when the last time anyone touched Iggy was. Aside from sparring and fights, that was. He can see the evidence of those as soon as Ignis strips down in the hunters' common bath: bruises on top of bruises, scars new and old. Gladio's heart twists in his chest, and he moves before stopping to think if it's wise. If he should.

"Let me help you with that," he says, because while Ignis must have heard him crossing the room, he's acting unpredictably. He plucks the shirt and undershirt from Iggy's hands. "There are pegs on the wall here," he explains, and Ignis cocks his head then nods his understanding. Gladio grimaces. Had no one ever explained that to him? Sure, Iggy gets around real well, but he's still blind.

He hangs up Iggy's trousers and underwear as well, noting the patches and mends. 

"Thank you," Ignis says. He doesn't sound apologetic or resigned, but he moves away from Gladio as if signaling that he'll be fine from here on.

Gladio should take the hint, but he doesn't. The bath isn't fancy. There are four stools facing the tub, and a wooden pail on each stool. It's a simple matter of scooping out warm water from the bath and using it to wash and rinse; nothing Ignis needs assistance with, but there goes Gladio's big mouth, blurting out,

"Let me wash your hair."

Ignis sets down the pail he'd just filled and looked at Gladio with concern and confusion. "Are you all right?" he asks. "Is something troubling you?"

Not like Gladio's going to say the truth, but it'll make a nice distraction. He takes up the soap and wets his towel, making a good lather. "It all gets to me sometimes, you know? I've been out with Iris, and there's nothing like seeing your kid sister – you know." He put a hand on Ignis' shoulder. "Sit, you're too tall."

Ignis sits, and then starts reassuring Gladio that Iris will be fine. She's strong, and well trained. He only pauses when Gladio tells him to lean forward, so he can pour the water carefully over Iggy's head, working it down to his scalp with his other hand.

"She's got a scar," Gladio says, pulling over one of the other stools. He runs his finger down Ignis' left arm by way of explanation. "And I keep remembering how angry Dad was when I fucked up my face. Shouting and shit."

Ignis shakes his head; very slightly, because Gladio's starting to massage the soap lather in. "I certainly hope you didn't treat Iris likewise."

"I promised to get her a tattoo to cover it up," Gladio confesses. Ignis laughs, though, and he appreciates his amusement. "Probably a good thing I don't have kids, huh." Ignis starts to turn, and Gladio stills him. "That's not a worry. The opposite. There a word for that?"

"Relief?" Ignis suggests dryly. "Yes. I can well imagine."

"Lean forward," Gladio says, "and close your eyes."

He refills the pail twice, pouring the fresh water through Ignis' hair, making sure to get all the suds out. He remembers back when they'd just left Insomnia, and whenever they'd stayed in a motel Ignis broke out all his fancy hair stuff. Used to threaten murder if anyone so much as touched his conditioner treatment crap, too. Gladio always made fun of him, but it'd smelled nice and Iggy'd looked good.

"You growing your hair out?" he asks now, finally satisfied. He wrings out as much of the water as he can and then eases Ignis back up to sitting. "I am, too. It's just easier to tie it back and out of the way." He gets to work making more suds. "You should see Iris. She shaved her head a couple of months back, and liked it, I guess. Let me know if anything hurts, okay?"

"I beg your pardon?" Ignis says, sharply, as if he'd been roused from an inexcusable doze.

"I mean," Gladio goes on, using one hand on a shoulder to hold Ignis still as he scrubs his back, "I guess her girlfriend likes it. I wouldn't be surprised if they got matching tattoos, actually. Is it weird how stuff like that still goes on, even after the world's ended? I mean..." He grabs the pail and rinses Iggy's back. Some of what he thought were bruises turned out to have been dirt, but there are still some nasty ones, like Ignis took a hard fall onto rocks. "We know Noct's coming back. But what the hell is he going to be coming back to?"

He drags his stool to the front and starts in on Ignis' arms. He can feel the painful swelling over one elbow, hot and tight.

"You see the clinic about this?" he asks, trying to be gentle with the cloth. "Looks like you've been in some bad fights."

"It's not as if any fights are _good_ ," Ignis points out. He sounds weary, but not defensive. Gladio went out on a hunt with him a couple months back, and was impressed by how well Ignis held his own. Not the same as he used to be, sure, but different doesn't mean _lesser_. "Just protecting the reservoir. I'm sure you know what a bother that is."

Gladio skims the cloth over the back of Ignis' hands, then his palms, then buffs each finger in turn. There's dirt under Ignis' ragged nails, and it fills Gladio with a wellspring of need to take care of Ignis, to protect him. For his own sake, selfishly, because with his King gone he feels like his duty as Shield is to at least keep the King's people together and safe, in his stead.

"Here," Ignis says, and deftly steals the washcloth out of Gladio's grip. "Allow me to return the favor." He reaches out with his other hand and finds the pail, pulls it closer. "Soap, if you please."

Gladio figures he'll just piss Iggy off if he protests, so he passes over the soap dish, resigned to his fate. 

Ignis follows the same path, only in reverse, starting with Gladio's hands, then his shoulders and back, and then standing to perform a hairwash-massage combo that makes Gladio's bones start to liquefy, it's that good. Unfortunately, he finds the scar at the back of Gladio's head, a hairless stripe the length of Gladio's middle finger and about as wide.

"Another reason I prefer longer hair," Gladio says, feeling displeasure radiating off Ignis. "Iris says it looks weird."

Ignis sighs, and reaches for the pail to start the careful process of rinsing the soap out. "I imagine it looks as if you very nearly suffered a sudden detachment from your brain."

"Hey," Gladio says, trying to think of a good joke so he could deflect from admitting how close Ignis is to the truth. But he doesn't, he realizes, _want_ to push Ignis away. Instead he leans back, so his head bumps into Ignis' hip, and reaches up to wrap his arms around Ignis' waist.

He's probably been isolated far too much, because he doesn't realize just how compromising the position is until he realizes that if he turns his head he'll be staring right at Iggy's dick. Ignis notices, of course, and the hand in Gladio's hair clenches into a fist. Gladio's pretty sure he should let go, but instead he just rubs short arcs across Ignis' skin, like he can magically soothe away the ache of his bruises.

"Gladio," Ignis says. His tone is the old familiar warning, a reminder to remember his place and his duty. It's kept Gladio reined in for nearly a decade. But things are different now.

"You really think you'd possibly falter in your loyalty to Noct if we did this? You, of all people?" Gladio shakes his head against Ignis' hip. "You think I will?" He plants his feet firmly on the floor and rises in one slow liquid motion, keeping his hands and his hold on Ignis as he turns to face him.

" _I'm_ too tall," Ignis scoffs. It's fond, though, not a refusal or a postponement, and Ignis reaches out to touch like he's been hypnotized; like he can't keep himself from touching now that they've both acknowledged how much they _need_. What they want.

Gladio covers those questing fingers with his own, moving them to glide over the edges of his tattoo: talons, wings spread wide, ferocious beak.

Ignis smiles when he figures out what Gladio's showing him. For all Gladio hates Ignis' scars – far more than he does his own, which he never has to look at – they don't change him. In that smile he can see a teenager beaming at Noct, a new Crownsguard recruit proud in his uniform, a hundred photos from their roadtrip. His favorite of Iggy was snapped over a campfire, a selfie of the four of them grinning, confident and young. Ignis' eyes are silvered with scars now, but maybe it's time for Gladio to admit that the new color's pretty in its own way. Same old Ignis, shining through.

He lifts Ignis' hand to his mouth and kisses his fingers like a courtier in a historical drama. Ignis reaches out with one finger and traces Gladio's lower lip, and hell – if that's not a prelude to a real kiss, Gladio will combust with frustration. He leans down; Ignis tilts his face up towards that spot he's keeping bookmarked, only moving his finger away to replace it with his mouth.

Gladio hasn't kissed anyone in so long that he can't remember, at first, how the choreography of kissing works. But Ignis figures it out, tilting his head as he deepens the kiss, his hand cupping Gladio's cheek and his eye wide open, like he can't bring himself to stop watching.

Gladio hopes he can see _something_ , because this is the hottest kiss since Ifrit last got laid. He's fully hard near-instantly, and Ignis isn't stopping him from touching him all over. His broad shoulders, his back, double handfuls of his ass that make Ignis rise up on his toes for a moment, murmuring annoyance into Gladio's mouth even as his dick slides wet against his stomach, making Iggy's hands clench involuntarily. Yeah. He wants more of that, definitely.

But then Ignis pulls back, swiping his hand over his mouth, breathing like he's been sparring, and says, "This is the bath." His dick is curling up like it misses Gladio already. He knows the feeling.

"Don't be the voice of reason," Gladio says. He means it as a joke, but it comes out rough and almost lost.

Ignis flashes a smile up at him, quick and strained. "I'm being the voice of not letting you fuck me here where anyone might walk in."

Gladio has never heard Ignis use profanity before. He finds it charming, while at the same time he's even more turned on, his knees going weak.

"You gotta let me suck you off," he says. Begs, maybe. Ignis' dick jumps at that, and Gladio grins. "I guess we'll finish the bath later," he goes on. "It's going to kill me to watch you hide all that gorgeous skin away under clothes again."

"I am positive you will survive the agonies for the half a minute it takes to go upstairs," Ignis says dryly.

"Be nice to me."

Ignis reaches out that one finger again. It lands on Gladio's chest; he slides it up, to the base of his throat, then up over his pulse-point, to his chin, and then lays it across his lips to shush him. Gladio does a good job of not whimpering.

"No," Ignis says thoughtfully. "I don't believe I will."

He lets his hand drop straight down, fingers skimming a line direct to Gladio's dick, which he captures in a light grip and strokes, eye closing in appreciation.

A moment later he's letting go and moving away briskly, crossing to the wall with their clothes hung up on pegs.

Gladio quickly straightens up the bath – towel rinsed and hung, stools and pails righted – and then follows after, his heart light in his chest and his skin already missing Ignis' touch.


End file.
